


As The Light Dances

by MarginalMadness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Child!Victor, Child!Yuuri, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Mysticism, Platonic Soulmates, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmates, VictUuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarginalMadness/pseuds/MarginalMadness
Summary: In a world where meeting your soulmate can be as easy as falling asleep, but as difficult as remembering remembering the gossamer threads of a dream, could a bond forged in childhood stand the trials of life and time, and if everything spills out into the open, what sort of path will they forge together?  Nobody said soulmates had to be lovers.





	1. Saturday, October 21st, 1995

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for this sort of soulmate AU for a while, but was never inspired enough by any fandom or pairing to write it, and then BAM, Yuri on Ice happened, so here we are. Soulmate quote shamelessly borrowed from Dawson's creek. This will follow pretty closely to canon, as much as I can, and yeah...little bit inspired by Dragon Age. I hope you enjoy this, adventure into writing something longer than I usually do, and not quite as angsty as I usually write!

_****_ _**What’s a Soulmate?** _

_Well, it's like a best friend, but more. It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It's someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don't make you a better person, you do that yourself because they inspire you. A soul mate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you'll always love them. Nothing can ever change that._

 

* * *

 

**Sat October 21st 1995**

As the light dances around his prone body, Victor stops wiping away the tears falling from his eyes, his hand reaching straight up into a uniform white sky to grab at it, but they miss. It circles, getting closer and closer, Victor’s hand frantically reaching, as it floats past him. When it’s finally close enough that one of it’s outer tendrils pass through his hand, it expands with a glow, wrapping itself down and around his arm, latching on and pulling itself closer. Victor’s sobs stop immediately, sensation flowing into him from this mysterious orb. He’s filled with a sense of comfort, and love and falls quiet in response. The light is warm, but he is cold, and it feels strange where they touch, like an itch he shouldn’t scratch.

He laughs sitting up, pushing his pale blond hair out of his face. “I’m Vitya. What’s your name?” He asks gently between hiccups. The light doesn’t reply, just dances up and down and spins in place, still holding onto his arm. He looks around him. The ground is flat, flat as far as he can see, and covered in freshly fallen snow, not even an imprint of where he was just lying left behind. He feels uncomfortably warm and cold at the same time. The sky is white, but not like it looks filled with clouds, and it’s dark, but there is light enough where he is he can see. Everything is strange and he doesn’t like it. He puts out his other hand to the light which wraps around it. “I’m scared.” He whispers to the light, even though there is no one else to hear him. “I was in the car singing with Mama, and then it was loud and there was a bang and then…I don’t remember, my head hurts…” He purses his lips to try and not cry, and suddenly the light moves forward, wrapping itself closer to him, tendrils around his waist and Victor realises he’s being hugged. Victor senses the change, it hugs him tighter, sorrow suddenly flowing between them and Victor’s eyes widen as he realises he’s sharing his pain with this thing that came to comfort him. “Sorrysorrysorry,” he whispers trying to comfort it. They hold each other tight as tears start to fall down Victor’s face again when suddenly the light pulls up away from his chest, still clinging tight to his arms.

“No, don’t leave me!”He cries out as the light is ripped from his grasp, “I don’t wanna be alone!”, but he watches as it fades away into a perfectly white sky.

 

Approximately four and a half thousand miles away in a quiet onsen, in Hasetsu, Japan, Katsuki Yuuri’s parent’s are rushing into their son’s bedroom to see why he’s started wailing at two in the morning.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, shhhhhh…” Hiroko croones at she pulled him to her chest, rocking him gently, putting a wrist to his forehead to check for a temperature, “What has you so upset, my boy? Why do you feel cold?”

Hiccuping as hes wipes his big brown eyes, Yuuri gives his mother the most heartbreaking look she had ever seen, “Itcha, sad” he gasps, before his face crumpled and his mother kissed his head, having no idea what her baby boy was talking about.

 

* * *

 

Victor sits in the dining room of his grandparents house. Curtains drawn closed to block out the sight of the snow that had begun to fall in earnest as October drew to a close and November began. Victor used to love the snow, but now when going out in it, his father can feel his tiny hand shake in his, and the see the tears that gather in the corner of his eyes that refuses to let fall and it breaks his heart.

“Vityen'ka, it’s time for your cream.” His grandmother calls from the kitchen, and Victor pretends to not hear her, and continues to draw his picture on the dinning room table. He doesn’t like his cream; it’s cold, and it stings. “Vityen'ka, are you ignoring me?” She calls again be continues to draw orange and pink swirls on his paper, until they completely encompass the crudely drawn figure in the snow which is supposed to be himself. “Vitya!” His head snaps up then to his babushka in the doorway. He guiltily looks away, putting down his crayon, and going to stand in front of her keeping his eyes averted as she kneels down. She carefully brushes his hair back off his head, revealing a short row of stitches which is carefully starts applying the antiseptic cream to, Victor hissing at the contact.

“I know it stings, malen'kaya ptitsa, but it will help it heal.” She says gently with a pat to his cheek as she stands, Victor just stares at the ground, nodding wordlessly. A delicate finger slides under his chin and raises his, holding him there until his cerulean blue, eyes meet her hazel ones. “Come, show your babushka, what you have been drawing.” She takes his hand and leads him back around the table sitting at the seat he was previously on, and lifting him up to sit on her knee. Victor reaches for the picture he was working on before she came in, the one with him kneeling in the snow arms full of a pink and orange splodge, he picks up a black crayon and adds a sad face to the ball and some tears, stopping when his grandmother gasps. “Victor?” She reaches for his other drawings, half a dozen of them all of similar design. Himself in the snow and the glowing orb with him. “You’ve seen this?” She asks him, holding up a picture. He nods, frowning, taking the picture from her and adding a happy face. That picture was before he made the light sad, when the light made him feel happy…safe…he draws over his sad face to make it a happy one.

His babushka suddenly starts pulling at his sleeve, pushing it up and running her fingers up his arm where the light had touched him. Her eyes wide. “They’re going away?! Oh my boy, my malen'kaya ptitsa, this is very special. Do you know what this means?” She runs a finger across one of the red marks that had been on his arm since the accident, before holding up the picture with the happy faces. Victor just shakes his head, pulling his sleeve down. “It means there is someone very special out there, who’ll love you very much.”

 

* * *

 

For weeks now, the Katsuki’s had listened to their son babble about his imaginary friend, Itcha-chan. He wasn’t always around from what they could tell but he came when Yuuri was sleeping and he was sad and Yuuri wanted to make sure that if he came back Yuuri had lots of things to make him happy when he came back. As such, the toddler’s room was now practically a shrine, cluttered with things he thought Itcha-chan would like, a shiny rock he found, a snack his parents had given him that day, his favourite stuffed toy, he stopped sleeping with specially so Itcha-chan could have it if he needed it.

He told his parents the story repeatedly of a boy on the ground, who was cold and sad so Yuuri danced for him, and hugged him but then Yuuri got sad and then Itcha-chan disappeared, and everyday before he’d go to bed, he’s ask to be lifted to the window to see if he could see Itcha-chan outside waiting for him. His parents explained what snow was and Yuuri thought it sounded fun and jumped and clapped as his parents told him all the things you could do in the snow, but then got very quiet and climbed into his sisters lap to ask if snow was so fun why was Itcha-chan sad?

It’s over a month before Yuuri sees Itcha-chan again, and he doesn’t even realise it’s him at first. It’s his birthday, he’s three, a big boy now, is what his mama said and his parents got him a cake and everything! They even had a little party in the lounge with guests congratulating him before Mari-neechan took him back to his room to play, but what he really wanted was for Itcha-chan to come play with him, he waited all day for him and he never showed up. Later that night Yuuri left a piece of cake for Itcha-chan but didn’t ask to look for him out of the window just quietly cried himself to sleep as his mother pet his hair helplessly.

That night a ball of light comes to him, he’s laying in bed as it drifts down from the sky towards him, glowing blue and purple. He dives hides under his covers but it hones in on him, a limb of light caressing him through his blanket and his warm, brown, eyes go wide before he throws the blankets off him and he climbs out of bed.

“Itcha-chan?” He asks jumping towards it, the ball of light bounces and spins around him, no longer recognisable as the young boy in snow, but as light wrapping itself around Yuuri’s arm he squealed in delight. “Itcha-chan!” Yuuri pulls him towards his shrine only to stop when it isn’t there. “Where it go?” He looks around and everything is strange. The floor is hard, like the floor where the baths are, but it goes on forever, fading into darkness. Yuuri realises he isn’t in his room and he starts to panic, sobs start building up in his throat, but before any tears can fall, Itcha-chan wraps himself around him and Yuuri can feel comfort and warmth passing between them and he stops, wiping his eyes and patting Itcha-chan and giggling.

Suddenly everything Yuuri wants to show him is laid out on Yuuri’s bed, so the toddler pulls him in that direction. “Come!” Yuuri pulls a hand free and picks up the rock and shows it to Itcha-chan “Shiny!” He tells him and the ball of light bounces up and down in agreement. He puts it down and picks up his favourite stuffed toy. “His name is Makkabu,” Yuuri holds it out to him. “For you.” A feeling of love and gratitude floods through the connection on Yuuri’s arm.

Yuuri stops then, frowning looking around. “Mama?” He asks out loud before turning back to the ball of light. “I can hear mama.” The limb wrapped around his arm tightened, sending a wash of deep sadness over him before loosening and letting go, and suddenly Katsuki Yuuri was blinking into the bright light of morning in his bedroom, and his mother’s face.

“Good morning, Yuuri. Did you sleep well?” She smiles at him, laughing at he launched himself out of bed throwing his arms around her neck.

“Mama, Itcha-chan came last night! I showed him my shiny rock I got for him and Makkabu!” The toddler giggles excitedly bouncing in her lap.

“That’s excellent, Yuuri.” She says while kissing his head with a large smile “Did he enjoy your birthday cake too?”

“He couldn’t eat the cake.” Yuuri said sadly. “He wasn’t a boy this time, he was like a star!” he said with only the genuine amazement a three year old can muster and it makes his mother stop. She shifts him from her knee to his bed and pulls up his pajama shirt, carefully turning him around, fingers skimming the raised red welts up his arms and across his back. Yuuri turns back to her holding her face in his chubby toddler hand and grins up at her, “Why mama, smiling?”

Hiroko puts her own hands on Yuuri’s cheeks, and rubs her nose against his. “Because mama, thinks Itcha-chan is very special indeed.”

 


	2. Wed December 27th 1995

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises are made, healing begins.

 

**Wed December 27th 1995**

Victor slumps down low in his seat, clinging tightly to his seatbelt, staring at his feet, blond hair falling into his eyes.

“Cheer up,” His father smiles down at him, between glances at the road, as he navigates the car carefully through busy, weekend, traffic. “I’m taking you out for a surprise.” Victor looks up at him and though he’s smiling, the smile is tight and closed-lipped, tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes, and Victor pretends not to notice. His papa hasn’t smiled properly since the accident. He tries to smile in return, but it’s also tight and it doesn’t met his eyes, and his father takes one hand off the steering wheel to cup his chin. “You can’t stay silent forever, Vityen’ka.”

Victor simply nods, turning his head away, looking out of the window, willingly watching the snow for the first time this winter, blinking back tears as they burn in his eyes.

His father sighs, and they travel the rest of the journey in silence. They pull up to a large building, the front made mostly of glass, and Victor is confused, he’s never been here before that he can remember and there are no signs that he can see. He glances between his father and the building before taking his hand and pressing himself close to his side as they slowly make their way across the the snowy car park to the entrance. Victor’s hand that isn’t being held, desperately clutches his fathers coat sleeve, his feet unsure on the slick, icy tarmac beneath them. They make their way inside and up to a reception desk, Victor can barely see over, just glimpses of shelves with boots on them and a sinking feeling grows in his stomach. He wasn’t really paying attention before, but he looks up at his papa just in time to hear him ask for an hour on the rink when fear overtakes him. ‘ _No._ ’. He steps away from his papa with a shake of his head, his eyes wide with fear, tears falling silently as his entire body starts to tremble.

The receptionist notices before his father does, a worried glance passing between the two of them, which prompts his father to turn to him. He motions for her to go get the skates before crouching down to his eye level.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything, Vityen'ka,” he says calmly, taking Victor’s hands and squeezing gently, “but it’s been two months, you can’t stay afraid forever.” An arm wraps around his waist, pulling him close to place a kiss on his forehead, a gesture which usually brings comfort, but only feels like a condemnation right now. His father unties and slips off his boots and then his own, before standing, exchanging them for the skates they’d need, placing them under one arm to carry, while all but _dragging_ Victor through the doors towards the ice rink.

The doors swing shut behind him, and the tears continue to fall as he’s lead down the short corridor and through a second set of double doors which open into the rink. He starts trembling uncontrollably, his papa tightens his hold on his hand, the only thing preventing it from shaking out of his grip and Victor suddenly feels far, far colder than he ever did outside.

The lights are bright, and they hurt his swollen, red-rimmed eyes as he squints against them, and over the noise of his own sobs and his heartbeat pounding in his ears he can hear laughter and happy shouting; sounds he doesn’t associate with the cold anymore.

His father leads him to the edge of the rink, and sits him down on a wooden bench, the boards hiding the activity on the ice, until all he can hear is distant voices and see the occasional head as it glides past. He wants to yell, to scream and beg them to yet off the ice, that it’s dangerous but the words get stuck in his throat behind a choked sob. His papa diligently fastens the skates to his feet, before seeing to his own; Victor just stares at the floor unseeing, tears still flowing

He is pulled back to reality as his Papa stands and walks to the opening to the ice. Victor watches with wide, fearful eyes as his father gives him one last look over his shoulder, takes a step forward- ‘ _ **No**_.’

“Pa-.” The word gets caught in his throat and his father disappears from view. Victor is up, standing at the edge of the boards, the extra few centimetres of the blades allowing him to easily peer over them. His heart stops, he searched for his papa in the crowd, his brown hair, his green coat, and then he sees him…his Papa is _smiling_. Not a fake one that he uses around Victor, a real one. He’s pushing himself around by his feet, smiling and nodding to strangers, Victor can even hear the faint sound of his laugh as he catches a small girl in an overly puffy, pink coat, with red pigtails just as she is about to fall. He wipes the tears from his eyes so he can see better, his father smiling, happier than he has been since- since. He bites his lips, hands clutching the boards tightly, willing himself not to start crying again when suddenly his Papa stops in front of him.

“Would you like to try?” His father holds out a hand, nose turning red at the tip and hazel eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Victor nods. It’s small, a tiny concession, but his Papa takes his hand as he shuffles to the entrance, where open ice meets rubber flooring. He stops, looking around at everyone skating past him, adults, children, even some smaller than he was, and none of them seemed afraid. “There’s no rush, if you want to sit down for a little longer, Vityen'ka.” His Papa smiles at him, squeezing his hand but he shakes his head, takes a deep breath and swallows down the sick feeling that is forming at the back of his throat and steps onto the ice.

Almost immediately his foot slides out from under him. He feels himself begin to fall, a gasp slipping from between his lips and tears springing to his eyes when just as suddenly a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around him. “Careful, Vityen'ka,” his papa laughs, he can feel it rumbling deep in his chest as he is pressed close to it. “Don’t be scared, you’re safe here.” He whispers into Victor’s pale hair, “Let’s move away from the entrance, okay?” He’s pulled along, feet still unable to find purchase until they’re in their own quiet section and his father holds him at arms length. “Okay, stand up, with both feet on the ice, pointing at me.” It takes a little bit, but he eventually gets there, standing stationary on the ice, with only his papa holding his hands for support.

“Okay, now, stay still and watch me.” Carefully his father places one of his hands on the boards and let go, hovering for a moment as his eyes widen with fear in case he falls. After a few moments he gave a confident nod and moved to stand beside him. “Look down, watch how I move my feet.” Victor carefully looks down, and his father slowly moves away from his side until he was just out of reach and then he turns and skates back, holding out his hands. “Got it?” Victor takes a deep breath and nods, taking hold of his fathers hands, and carefully tries to replicate what his papa had just done with his feet. It takes a while, and he almost falls more times than he count, but his fathers hands are firm and steady, always ready to catch him at the first wobble and by the time it comes to leave, Victor can skate forward, even if he is still a little unsure of himself and needs to hold at least one of his father’s hands. His papa smiles at him and tells him it was excellent progress for today and promises to bring him back next weekend if he wants. Victor looks up at his father’s genuinely happy face, and he very much wants.

It’s dark outside when they leave and he falls asleep during the car ride home, waking up only long enough to hear his father saying good night as he turns out the light. Victor turns to him holding out his arms and he father comes back into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing a curtain of blonde hair out of his eyes. He pouts and makes grabby hands and his father leans in with a chuckle and gives him a hug, squeezing him tight.

His mama used to put him to bed, papa used to work late and grade papers. He didn’t know about their bed time traditions, but Victor would teach him. His father gives him a kiss on the temple and wishes him a goodnight.

“Goodnight, papa.” Victor whispers, already burrowing into his quilt, missing the half gasped sob that slips from the grown man as he leaves the room, and then he is asleep.

 

* * *

Hiroko smiles up from her paperwork as she watches her three year old son spin around in dizzying, circles, only stopping when he bumps into something, to fall to the floor with a giggle that fills the quiet reception room with the sound of unrestrained joy. A customer comes in, and she throws her arms up in surprise when Minako is the one walking through the door.

“Minako! I didn’t know you were coming to visit to day.” She says with a big smile, walking around the counter to hug the other woman.

“It’s been a tough day, hell it’s been a tough week.”, she walks into the hug, giving the shorter woman and affectionate squeeze “I need some home cooking and sake, before I kill someone.” She smiles pulling away.

“Your usual?” Hiroko asks laughing, stepping back around the counter.

“Of course. Make it a large bowl, its been a _hell_ of a day.” She sighs propping herself up against the counter before her attention is suddenly pulled to the corner with which peals of laughter are spilling from. “Whats got him so excited?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.

“Oh he’s been spinning in circles for days, ‘ _like Itcha-chan does_ ’ when he visits, apparently.” Say laughs, making a face as she quotes her three year old, leaning into the kitchen to pass on the order.

“Who’s ‘Itcha-chan’?” Minako asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Hiroko comes back, leaning over the counter conspiratorially, before whispering “Yuuri has a soulmate.”

“No!” Minako gasps, leaning back, glancing over at the small boy who has once again, picked himself up and started spinning in circles. “But he’s so young!”

“I know!” the shorter woman buries her hands in her face and does a does a little wiggle. “It happened about a month before his birthday. He woke up one night screaming, freezing like he had been out with no coat and when we asked what was wrong he just said ‘Itcha was sad.’. We just thought it was a nightmare or something but he kept talking about them, set up a little shrine in his room to and everything, we figured it was just an imaginary friend and was harmless. Then on his birthday, he left him a piece of cake. The next morning he was excitedly telling me Itcha-chan had came to visit and he showed him the rock and Makkabu, and I asked if Itcha-chan enjoyed the cake and he said, ‘ _He couldn’t eat the cake. He wasn’t a boy…he was a star_ ’!”

“Wow.” Minako whispers looking back at Yuuri, “And you’re sure?”

“Definitely, he had the marks and everything after the second visit, nothing since.” Hiroko smiles following Minako’s eyes and sighing happily.

“Maybe they don’t visit together often,” Minako frowns “From what I’ve been taught I know it’s hard enough to control it when you’re old enough to understand what happening, but being unaware and making the connection…” She trailed off.

“It was incredibly difficult for me and Toshiya, at first and that first time was…difficult. My heart breaks for the poor boy on the other side of this and whatever happened to him to trigger the need for Yuuri, we can only hope he’s half as happy as Yuuri is right now.” Her tone dips, filled with sadness watching as her son falls over again laughing again.

“Careful, Yuuri, or you’re going to hurt yourself!” Minako calls out to him, cheerfully, making the small boy stumble as he looks for her, and fall on his behind, which causes him to laugh uproariously again. Minako looks over at Hiroko who just smiles and shrugs. By the time she’s look back at Yuuri, he’s picked himself up and it running towards her, weaving between the empty tables before throwing himself at her and wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Didya see? Didya see?” He smiles up at her, so wide his eyes vanish behind flushed cheeks.

“I saw you falling down a lot and making a lot of noise, squirt.” She laughs as she leans down to pick him up.

“It’s what I do with Itcha-chan! We spin and spin and jump, but I’m not good at jumping, so I just spin.” He laughs burring his face in his hands.

“You know, Minako-sensei is very good as spinning too, Yuuri.” Hiroko says with a smile and a twinkle in her eye, watching her son interact with her old Ballet teacher.

“Eeeeeeeeee,” Yuuri squeals, “You spin and fall down too?” His warm, brown, eyes wide and curious.

“Not exactly, I spent a lot of time practising so I don’t fall down. Wanna see?” She asks, poking him in the cheek and Yuuri nods his head frantically. “Okay, but only because you’re cute.” She places him on the counter, giving him a boop on the nose which makes him scrunch up his shoulders and face and takes a couple of steps back, before performing a perfect triple pirouette turn.

“‘gain! ‘gain!” Yuuri cries clapping his hands together and kicking his feet excitedly, and she narrows her eyes at him but obliges anyhow. “Teach me!” He asks, holding out his arms to her, “Teach Yuuri?” she picks him up again with a put on sigh and a flick of her long brown hair over her shoulder.

“I suppose!” Yuuri giggles at that, wrapping his arms around her neck for a tight hug. Minako smiles and hugs him back before placing him on the floor, and placing her hands on her hips “I have a dance class for young beginners tomorrow at eleven, are you gonna be there?” She asks sternly, but there is a smile on her face.

“Mama can I go? MAMA?!” Yuuri jumps up and down, reaching up for Hiroko who is leaning over the counter.

“Of course, you can, Yuuri, but it will be hard.” She smiles, and Yuuri suddenly stops bouncing a tiny frown marring his chubby, toddler face.

“Yeah it will be hard, and you’ll have to behave. No spinning and giggling until you fall down. I have to teach you the basics before I can teach you how to do spins.” Minako explains, in a gentle voice. The frown on Yuuri’s face deepens for a second before he smiles, his eyes shining with determination.

“I can do it! I’ll be the best at spinning in the whole world!”

 

That night Yuuri opens his eyes and the walls of his room are gone, and everything is white, covered in a blanket of fresh snow. He sits up, looking around and not far from him he sees Itcha-chan who he climbs out of bed to greet, running towards the older boy, leaving not a footprint in the snow in his wake. Itcha-chan notices him and moves towards him, his feet gliding weirdly on the ground under him, his arms flailing in the air like he’s about to fall but he makes his way smoothly towards him.

“Solnishko? Solnishko, it’s you!” He holds out his arms falling to his knees in the snow and Yuuri holds out his own, embracing at the edge of where Itcha-chan was wobbling. “I’ve missed you, I’ve been waiting, I have so much to tell you!” The taller boy exclaims and Yuuri’s eyes widen as he notices his arms glow a bright warm orangey-pink colour and they’re sort of fuzzy, around the edges. “My papa took me to an ice rink today, I was so _scared_ , but he was so _happy_ and-”

Yuuri places his hands on Itcha-chan’s cheeks, watching as his cerulean blue, eyes glow in his warm toned light, “Itcha-chan, happy?” He asks, but no words come out, instead he feels an exchange of emotion between them. Itcha-chan frowns for a second, and lifts his own hands to cover Yuuri’s, the toddler giggles as it feels to him they both cover, and pass right through his fingers and the sensation tickles.

The frown melts away and Itcha-chan beams at him, eyes almost vanishing, with the width of his smile, as happiness, tinged with just a hint of sadness around the edges floods through the toddler. Itcha-chan leans forward and whispers, “I’m not scared anymore.” He rises to his feet, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes. “Skating made my daddy happy, and me being able to skate made my daddy happy especially happy. I’m going to skate all the time, and get better at it, so I can make him smile more.” He pulls Yuuri out onto what seems like a large flat expanse of ice. “Skate with me, Solnishko?”

Yuuri stands at the edge, holding Itcha-chan’s hands, unsure, reservation flowing between the two of them. Itcha-chan tilted his head and a soft smile. “Don’t be scared, you’re safe here.”

Yuuri takes a step onto the ice, but it feels no different than the snow he walked over to get here. Itcha-chan must have sensed his confusion, “Ice skating must be easy when you don’t have lets or feet.” He laughs holding his hand as he is pulled around the ice, causing Yuuri to look down indignantly.

“I have legs! See!” He yells, lifting one up, to prove a point, but once again his limb is encased in a soft warm orange-pink glow, and his efforts across the ice aren’t hindered by the fact that he’s on one leg and being pulled.

When he tires of this, he tries to show Itcha-chan he’s been working on his spinning, and starts going in circles, arms out wide, he stops when he’s so dizzy he falls to the floor, but even though he can feel himself sitting on the ground, it didn’t feel like he fell at all. “Now you!” He laughs, ignoring that Itcha-chan can’t seem to hear him and is just skate-shuffling slow, careful, circles around him as he spins.

He reaches out and even though he is not close enough to grab Itcha-chan, he feels their connection, and understanding pass through them.

“Okay, solnishko, I’ll try.” He laughs, reaching out to caress Yuuri, and Yuuri scrunches up his face, as the hand passes over his head. Itcha-chan starts spinning, and keeps spinning, and starts wobbling and then suddenly he is falling over, landing on his back with a gasp and a sob. Yuuri rushes over to him, he’s crying, oh no, he didn’t mean to make him cry, his hands grasp his face, Yuuri starts laying what he thinks are kisses on Itcha-chans face apologising profusely, but to the older boy it’s like he’s being snuggled by the ball of light, apologies and comfort passing between them. Itcha-chan reaches out a hand to touch Yuuri, it landing just over his heart to the smaller boy. His other hand wiping away tears. “Thank you, solnishko, lets try again.” And holding each other tight, they spin around on the ice, until morning breaks in Japan, and Yuuri is once again, pulled from his arms. 

* * *

**Thurs February 29th 1996**

Victor presses himself onto the tips of the blade to get the extra inch of hight to see over clearly onto the ice. The rink is quieter today, only a handful of people, but in the middle is a young girl not much older than Victor spinning on the spot, arms held above her head, long, blonde, ponytail whipping around behind her, and Victor is _enraptured_.

“Aren’t you going to skate, Vityen’ka?” his babushka asks, pulling his attention away from the girl on the ice, and he looks over his shoulder at where she sits on a raised bench, a clear view of the entire rink. “You won’t have as much time today as you do on the weekends,” she says, with a nod towards the ice, “go.” Victor throws her a wide grin and makes his way to the entrance. He steps onto the ice confidently now, it’s only been a couple of months since his papa brought him here for the first time but the improvement has been remarkable. He moves about the ice freely, weaving in and out of other skaters, skating forwards and backwards, it feels like he’s flying, like he really is his babushka’s little bird. He loops around the edge of the rink, arms waving, no longer in flailing motions to keep himself upright as he once did, but mimicking those of the young girl who has stopped spinning and is repeating a sequence of dance moves as dictated by an older woman who is watching over her in the middle of the ice.

He watches carefully as he continues to skates, as she moves down to the edge of the rink, takes a breath and then rushes forward back to the middle, only to turn and fly into the air and land perfectly on a single skate.

Victor trips over his own foot, falling onto the ice the face first. _She jumped_? _She flew_? He sits up turning to where the girl was moving back to the edge of the rink, ignoring the skaters who are giving him curious looks as he sits there entranced. She stops, readies herself, starts pushing forward only to turn…he gasps. She was so beautiful. She lands with one foot outstretched behind her, her arms quickly moving into the dance moves he was copying before. The woman in the middle barks an order and she nods and moves to the outside of the rink once again. Victor stands and watches her, watches how she turns, watches how she uses the blade of her other skate to push herself into the air. He could do that, he knows he could. He skates slowly around the rink, watching, eventually she moves on to something else, but his mind is still filled with the image of the jump. How she seemed to move faster than he could watch, how gracefully she landed, how happy she seemed. If his papa was happy at how fast he had learnt to skate normally, imagine how happy he’d be if he could show him jumps.

Victor nods to himself, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and starts moving faster and faster around the rink, trying to remember how the skater had used her blade to push herself into the air, how she had landed. He waits until there is no one in front of him and turns, using his skate to push himself up into the air as he jumps.

The last thing he remembers is cold, solid ice, impacting the back of his head.

 

He wakes to the sterile scent of the hospital and panic floods through him. His eyes fly open to find his father falling asleep in a chair next to his bed and he immediately climbs out of bed and crawls into his lap, tears falling from his eyes.

His father wakes to him trying to bury his way into his chest, great heaving sobs, muffled into his shirt.

“Hey, hey, hey, Vityen’ka,” he murmurs, pushing back the hair from his eyes. “What’s going on? You’re fine, every thing’s fine, you just hit your head, that’s all.”

“I thought it was like last time.” Victor cries between gasps. “I thought it was like when mama-” he bit his lip. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to make his papa sad. His father nodded his head, a warm hand cupping the nape of his neck and pulling him close, rocking him.

“There, there, moya malen'kaya ptichka, there, there.” He clings tightly to his father’s shirt, until his hands turn white and this fingers ache.

His father calls for a doctor, who checks him over, and clears him to go home after a night of observation as long as he gets back in his bed, and Victor goes reluctantly.

“You know your babushka might just kill you, anyway, you almost gave her a heart attack.” His papa smiles as he tucks him in.

Victor sinks down into the covers, covering the lower half of his face, “Sorry, papa.” He whispers.

“What were you thinking, Vitya?” He asked more seriously. “I know you’ve gotten good at skating but to attempt a jump when you’re on the ice alone? Are you an idiot? Did you papa raise an idiot?” He asked pulling the blanket away from his face.

Victor shakes his head, but doesn’t make eye contact. “No, papa.” Victor sinks into the pillows further.

“No more skating until your head heals fully.” Victor looks up then, a frown already on his face and opens his mouth like he’s going to argue but his father cuts him off. “Vitya.”

“Yes, papa.” He sighs, pulling the blankets back up around his face.

“And if you are well behaved, and your babushka hasn’t killed you, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get you enrolled in some figure skating classes, so you don’t break a leg next time you try to copy a pretty, girl on the ice, hmmm?” His father smiles at him, patting his head gently. Victor’s eyes go round with surprise and he launches himself at his papa, throwing his arms around his neck.

“I’m going to become the best ice skater ever, papa. _I promise!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this, did not want to be written, it was like pulling teeth. Sorry this took so long. And the promises? Totally accidentally canon. Hope you liked this chapter, things will start to even out once Yuuri gets a little older and don't have to write from the POV of a toddler.


	3. Friday February 27th 1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has been skating for two years now, and his hard work is about to pay off, and it's only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter happened to be longer than chapters 1 and 2 put together, and it's mostly just Victor. Next chapter will probably be mostly Yuuri, to balance it out. Thanks to everyone who has read and give kudos and comments so far. Very, very much appreciated <3 <3 <3

**Friday February 27th 1998**

 

Victor flies across the ice, nose pink from the cold, cheeks pink from excitement and exertion. He turns, preparing to jump, a wide smile on his face, he pushes his toe pick into the ice and spins himself around. One rotation, two, and he lands with a wobble, on his left leg; arms, which were never really tucked in, spread for balance. His smile grows and he skates to a stop, turning to look at his papa, throwing both hands in the air in triumph as his father gives him two thumbs up.

“You wobbled when you landed, Vitya.” A voice says coolly, from behind. “Why was that?”

Victor lowers his arms, turning to his staking instructor, a short, slim, blonde woman with icy blue eyes, named Nina. He ducks his head, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his eyes, pursing his lips, preparing for the oncoming lecture.

“Vitya, are you ignoring me?” Nina asks, tapping her skate on the ice and folding her arms.

“No.” Victor huffs, and Nina raises an eyebrow because it was obvious he had been.

“Then why did you wobble when you landed?” She asks again, calmly.

Victor sighs, raising his head and pushing his hair back off his face, “Because-I-didn’t-tuck-my-arms-in-when-I-jumped.” He groans monotonously. It was always the same criticism, but Victor loves the feeling of flying, of the air rushing beneath his arms when he jumps, and if he could learn to land them clean with his arms outstretched, wouldn’t it just look so-much-cooler?

“It’s unsafe to jump with your arms outstretched, you know this. Unsafe for you, and more importantly, unsafe for others using this rink. If you keep disobeying me, I will no longer train you, understood?”

Victor straightens at this, giving a very serious nod. “Yes, Miss Nina.”

“Okay. Then, again, and remember-”

“Tuck my arms in.” Victor finishes for her, before skating off. He rounds the rink again. It’s not busy, this is the time the rink is booked for the small handful of skaters who are being privately coached. He builds up speed, turning preparing for the jump, for a moment he lets his arms drift up and away from him, longing for that feeling of freedom before he pulls them in tight, as he spikes his toe pick into the ice.

He lands the double salchow better this time, not perfectly but cleanly enough, and the approval on Miss Nina’s face is worth the sacrifice in the slight feeling of freedom.

“Good. Again.” She smiles, and Victors eyes sparkle as he nods and takes off around the rink once more.

When he lesson ends, he’s tired but in a way that fills him with restless excitement, like he can’t wait to rest and get back on the ice and practice more, learn more. The older kids on the ice were doing much more complicated jumps and spins than he was and he wanted to be doing them too. He heads over to the exit, where his papa is chatting with Miss Nina, and an older gentleman, Victor doesn’t recognise. Victor takes him in carefully; he looks grumpy, and he’s staring at Victor like he’s appraising him. Victor just looks between his father and Miss Nina for once keeping his mouth as he approaches.

“This him?” The strangers asks Miss Nina.

“It is.” She turns to Victor and gives him a warm smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. Outside of lessons she’s much nicer; also when Victor was actually following her instructions.

“Vityen’ka,” his papa smiles, motioning to the other man, “This is Mr Yakov Feltsman, he’s a skating coach. Miss Nina invited him to watch you skate, isn’t that wonderful?” Victor’s mouth falls open, his eyes widening, going back to the stern man before him, before he remembers himself, closes his mouth and nods.

“You’re a very impressive young skater.” He says gruffly. “But you lack discipline, and focus.” Victor pouts, his eyes lowering, already feeling he somehow managed to disappoint the stranger. “Maybe if you were given something to focus your energy on other than jumps that are obviously far too easy for you, that could be reined in, hmmm?” Victor blinks up at him, frowning, once again looking between his father and Miss Nina before speaking.

“I don’t…”

“At the beginning of April, after the World Championships, local clubs will be performing at gala’s to showcase their best skaters talents, you’re aware, yes?” He asks again. Suddenly Victors eyes become wide, and they almost sparkled in the fluorescent lighting of the rink. He skates forward the final few feet, stepping off the rink, right up to Mr Feltsman.

“Yes! Miss Nina said I couldn’t perform last year, even though I really wanted to, said I couldn’t be trusted to behave.” Victor, bit his lip, clasping his hands together just under his chin, looking up at the older man with child like abandon.

“I can understand why,” The older man mutters mostly to himself, before clearing his throat, “but this is your chance to prove yourself. Nina will choreograph a routine for you, I will be getting updates from her. I want to hear you have been behaving and listening to her instruction.”

“Yes, sir.” Victor agrees readily with a little hop and a clap.

“And if you perform well, you will be transfered into my rink, and I will become your permanent coach.” Mr Feltsman finishes.

Victor’s face fell a little at the news, and he turns back to Miss Nina. “You don’t want to coach me anymore?”

“It’s not that, Vitya, but I’ve taught you almost everything I can from a technical stand point. You could transfer to one of the more advanced coaches at this club, but Mr Feltsman, trains the greatest figure skaters in Russia, you could be one of them.” She smiles at him, “If you listen to him and work hard that is.” She laughs, ruffling his hair and something swells in his chest. He looks over to his father who is watching him carefully, and Victor remembers why he’s doing this, turning back to Mr Feltsman.

“Could you make me the greatest figure skater in the world?” Victor asks, standing straight, head held high and years later he will insist Yakov’s lips twitch with the urge to smile.

“That really depends on you, and how hard you work.” He says, holding out his hand.

“I can do it.” He says, thrusting his tiny, hand into the older mans and shaking it vigorously. “I’ll be the best in Russia, and the world.” He declares with all the bravado of an unstoppable nine year old, and when he looks back over his shoulder to look at his papa again, there is a beaming, heart shaped, smile on his face.

 

* * *

“Vityen’ka, sit still, you need it cut.” His babushka barks at him as she sits him in a chair in her kitchen, for the third time, and he kicks his legs as he twists, trying to break out of her grip on his shoulders.

“But I’ll look weird with grey hair!” He cries pulling away again, “The kids at school already call me ‘Old Man’.” He huffs as his back is pulled flush against the back of the chair.

“I have grey hair, are you calling your babushka, old?” She asks reaching for his chin and turning his face towards her.

His cerulean eyes widen, blinking owlishly at her. “No.” He pouts.

“Right answer.” She says letting go of his face and starting to comb his hair. “This is a fact of life now Vityen’ka, you’ll get used to it and your performance is tonight, you want to go out there with a blonde ponytail and grey roots? Looking like a dirty boy who never washes?”

“No.” He pouts harder.

She combs the blonde strands back off his forehead, placing a hand there, pulling his head back so he’s looking up at her and she leans down, placing a kiss between his eyes. “No matter the colour of your hair, you’ll always be the most handsome young man in all of Russia.”

“What about, dedushka?” Victor asks, with a sly smile.

“Ha! I said **young**.” She laughs, placing another kiss on his forehead before moving him back into place; and with that she pulls long strands of fine blonde hair through her comb, and where they slowly fade into the palest silvery-grey, she begins to snip.

It’s not too terrible when she’s finished he admits. Standing in front of the full length mirror in his grandparent's bedroom, he checks his reflection. His hair, which he hadn’t had cut since that day, is significantly shorter, but it’s still long enough that if he ducks his head he can hide behind it. When he babushka had told him she was done, and he had tugged on a piece of his fringe she smiled knowingly at him before giving him a little push towards the door. The back was a little longer, sitting just above the collar of the blue shirt he was wearing. He wouldn’t be able to put it up in a ponytail anytime soon, but he could always grow it out again, and it did look better now, without the blonde ends contrasting sharply with his silvery roots.

It also added an extra ‘something’ to his outfit. His shirt, a pale blue, a little lighter than his eyes, with silver sequins which caught the light scattered across his shoulders and down his chest and arms, his pants, plain black, except for a seam of sequins down the outside of each leg. He smiles at his reflection, he was going to sparkle on the ice, he was going to stand out, Mr Feltsman was going to agree to coach him because Victor had been the very example of a hardworking, model-pupil , and he was going to make his papa so proud he would never stop smiling.

His stomach lurches, filling with butterflies; head, filling with what-ifs. He sits on the bed, pulling a pillow into his lap to hug tightly, burying his face into it. What if he fails? What if he messes up his routine, or Mr Feltsman doesn’t agree to coach him, what if he makes a fool out of himself and everyone laughs at him and he cries and then he papa won’t be proud of him, he’ll have to comfort Victor and that’s the opposite of what Victor wants to happen. The front door closes with a bang and it startles him into sitting upright. He throws the pillow back into place rubbing his eyes, before leaping off the bed, throwing open the door and running down the hall to his father who is waiting by the door.

“Who is this young man, in my son’s skating outfit?” He chuckles wrapping his arms around Victor, as he barrels into him. “Are you a friend of, Vityen’ka’s? You look a little too grown up to be hanging around a nine year old, however.”

“Don’t be silly, papa.” Victor loosens his hold on his waist to smile up at him, but it falters when he sees tears in his fathers eyes. A large hand reaching down to brush the freshly cut fringe back from his eyes, a thumb running along the edge of his eyebrow.

“You look just like your mother.” His father smiles at him, and though it’s sad and wobbly, it’s real, and Victor’s mouth, falls open, not knowing what to say, so he just tightens his arms around his papa’s waist again, burying his head in his coat, his father leaning over him to return the embrace. “She would be so proud of you, she loved to skate.” Victor just nods, he could do this for her as well, and hopefully, she’ll be watching from somewhere too.

“Mishka, stop standing in the doorway and help get your son ready for his big debut.” His babushka called coming out from the kitchen.

“Mama.” he greets, letting go of Victor, and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, she lifts her hands his cheeks to wipe away his tears.

“Such, sensitive boys, the pair of you, what am I to do with you?”

“Make us Blintzes and tea, and complain about what you’re to do with us?”

“Ah, such sass, for your mother?” She cries giving him a little slap to the back of his head. “Vityen’ka where are you shoes? Why aren’t they on your feet? Do you plan to run barefoot all the way to the rink? Or are you going to put your skates on and skate there.” Victor narrows his eyes at her, rolling them exaggeratedly before breaking out into a grin, slipping around his papa and into the closet behind him to retrieve his things. “From you too? No appreciation in this house! May God strike me down and then see what you’d do without me.”

“Yes, mama.” His papa laughs, leaning in to kiss her again on the other cheek, before reaching over Victor and retrieving her coat and presenting it to her with a bow. “Your Highness.” She takes his head in her hands and gives it a squeeze before she slips her coat on.

“If you’re royalty, you could have him beheaded!” Victor pipes up from the door, now hastily stuffing his feet into his shoes and picking up his bag with his new custom skates in.

“This is why you’re my favourite, Vityen’ka.” She smiles, offering him her hand, which he takes, grinning up at her, with a heart shaped smile so much like his father. She turns her head over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours, pryanichek. Try not to die of heartbreak without me.”

“Buh-bye, dedushka!” Victor calls, pulling his babushka towards the door. His dedushka yelling something in reply but Victor was already out the apartment door, pulling the older woman towards the stairs to the car parked at the bottom of them, his papa’s laughter echoing into the night sky behind him.

* * *

The rink looks different at night he notices, columns lit up in the dark, making it look a lot more imposing. He’s only been here twice so far and that was for his last training sessions with Miss Nina, to practice his routine to get him used to the space so it would seem less overwhelming on the night. Both times had been exhilarating, the rink had been empty except for him and it felt as though he had the entire world to skate on, all this space to dance on and move as he wanted; he wanted to do this forever.

They make their way into the building and it’s filled with people, some in suits, some in casual clothes like his papa and babushka and occasionally some in outfits like his, covered in sparkles and sequins, with sports jackets over the top. Victor’s eyes widen as he takes in the entire room, holding tight to his papa’s hand so not to lose him in the throng of people. Eventually they find their way to Miss Nina, who’s waiting by the door to the staging area. As they reach her his father kneels down in front of him.

“Vityen’ka, I am so very proud of you right now.” Victor tries to smile at him but feels his bottom lip tremble, the unease from before creeping back, so bites it to make it stop and just nods. “I know you’re nervous, but just go out there and have fun, okay? It’s not worth doing if you’re not enjoying it.” Victor smiles at that, throwing his arms tight around his papa’s neck. “And remember to tuck your arms in.” Is whispered into his ear, which makes him giggle.

“Don’t listen to him, malen'kaya ptitsa, fly free.” His babushka smiles, leaning down to kiss him on his cheek.

He looks up to Miss Nina who is giving him a **_look_** , and then back to his babushka before turning to Miss Nina with a winning smile.“I’ll behave.”

“Yah-huh.” She says, wryly with a tiny smirk, taking his hand, “Go find your seats, Misha, the show is about to start.” She motions to the main entrance of the rink with her head, leading Victor backstage, “I’ll bring him to you when he’s done.” His papa smiles at her and thanks her with a wave as they go their separate ways.

Backstage there are even more skaters who are getting ready, maybe a dozen or so, but definitely no more than twenty. Almost all of them were older, mostly senior skaters, a few in the later Junior years getting ready to progress in the next year or two but there were one or two around Victor’s age, all warming up, tying on their skates as the people started to fill the seats along side the rink. Excitement starts to fill him now. He’s worked really hard on his performance for the past six weeks, his babushka taking him to the rink everyday after school to practice, his papa taking him on Saturday. The only day he rested was Sunday, because his babushka insisted he go to church, and let his ‘poor feet rest’.

He focuses on tying up his skates; they fit perfectly, freshly broken in while practising this routine, bought in celebration of his performance, only to look up as a shadow covers him and find a tall, slender, girl who doesn’t look much older than himself, standing over him, practically sneering down her petite, upturned nose at him, dark hair pulled back into a braided bun at the back of her head.

“Yelena Nikolayevna Obolenskaya.” She said giving him a slow appraisal, glaring at him like he didn’t meet her approval. Victor was thrown by her formality.

“Erm…Victor Mikhailovich Nikiforov…but you can call me, Vitya.” He gives her a big smile and holds out his hand. She looks at it like it might be dirty, which causes Victor to self consciously wipe it on it his pants. “Are you performing tonight too? It’s my first time, have you performed at many of these? Who do you train with? Do you know Yakov Feltsman? He might-”

“ **You** know uncle Yakov? You’re the new potential _uncle_ Yakov, is watching tonight?” Victor’s eyes widen as for the first time, as genuine smile, that’s full of malice graces the girl’s pinched face, before she promptly bursts into giggles. “Oh my god, hahahaha, oh my-” People start to turn to look at her, and Victor starts curling in on himself, ducking his head and wishing he could still hide behind his hair. “You look like you can’t even stand on the ground in those skates, never mind on the ice, you’ve probably never even done a day of ballet or gymnastics in your life, and what is with that _hair_?”

Victor felt his face begin to flush now, no he hadn’t done any ballet or gymnastics but he could still skate really well, he could, he knew he could. He glares up at her, through the hair falling in his eyes, opening his mouth to say something in return but both of their attention is caught by someone in the doorway.

“Lena? You’re up first, stop chatting with your new friend and get out there.” A dark haired man, Victor didn’t recognise calls out, and like that, the girl in front of him had been switched out with a clone, her piercing, taunting voice, changes into something melodic and sweet.

“Yes uncle Lexi, be right there.” She turns back to Victor with a smile on her face but murder in her eyes. “Nice meeting you, _Vitya_.” And she turns and practically skips away leaving Victor gaping, wide eyed after her, wondering what the hell just happened.

“Ignore, Lena.” A soft voice comes from next to him, and he turns to find a short, dark haired boy, with pale blue eyes, staring in the direction of the door. “She’s _technically_ Yakov’s niece, she thinks this makes her better than everyone else.”

“Hmmmm.” Victor murmurs looking down at his skates. It’s probably good he didn’t say anything to her, it would have probably only gotten him in trouble if she went crying to Yakov about him; she seems like the type to tattle.

“One day I’m going to marry her.” The dark haired boy declares with a sigh, and it’s all Victor can do to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I think I’m going to go ask if I can watch.” He says slowly standing, picking up his things and making his way to the door.

“Have fun, and good luck, Vitya.” The boy waves.

“And you, uh…” Victor halts, not knowing his name.

“Georgi.” The boy smiles, unoffended and Victor returns it gratefully.

“Good luck, Georgi.” Victor waves at him and rushes off as fast as he can, balancing precariously on his skates, to find Miss Nina.

Luckily she isn’t too far, crowding around the stage entrance to the rink, with some of the other trainers and coaches accompanying their skaters, talking to someone with a clip board and a walkie-talkie. He pulls on her sleeve and gives her a big smile handing her his bag with his shoes and coat in it.

“I’m ready.” He beams with a little jump, “I was wondering if I could watch some of the other performances before it’s my turn?”

“Are you sure? Some of the performers going before you have been skating a lot longer than you have, it’s not going to psych you out is it?” She asks, leaning down to regard him carefully. Victor just shakes his head, newly cut fringe swishing in his eyes.

“I promise.”

“Okay,” Miss Nina straightens, placing her hand on his shoulder to leading him out to the side of the rink. “There is a girl a couple of years older than you, who has been skating since she was four, performing first, a boy whose is entering the Junior division, and then you.” She explains, simply.

“Yelena? I met her in the changing room.” Victor mumbles quietly.

“Oh? And what did you think?” his trainer asks, casually.

“She’s a bit of a-” Victor stops himself, looking up as Miss Nina with wide terrified eyes, worried he said too much but the older woman was smirking down at him.

“Truth be told, Yakov doesn’t care for her either, but she’s his wifes niece through marriage, and the young girl idolises her Aunt Lilia, so he puts up with her.” Victor smiles at that, a little tightness in his chest easing somewhat, and rushes the last few feet to the boards, limbs starting to feel fuzzy with excitement, just as Yelena was making her way into the middle of the ice, the golden sequins of her dress, making her look like a golden disco ball. She cocks her hip to the side, a hand out in front of her and plasters on a big fake smile. She looks like a toad, Victor thinks to himself, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He may not like her but he’s not mean enough to distract her from the beginning of her performance.

Suddenly the rink is filled with cheesy upbeat music, a song he’s never fully heard, because his father would yell out in disgust every time it came on the radio and rush to change the station. Victor hates to admit it, but Yelena is talented, she dances across the ice beautifully in time with the music, looking like she’s having the time of her life performing, and then comes her first jump, and Victor can see where she is going to go wrong before it happens. She tries for a double flip, but she’s slowed down too much in the turn, and comes down wrong, touching a hand down to keep herself upright. Victor’s breath catches, she had seemed so confident, still does as she makes her way across the ice in an energetic step sequence, she’s gearing up for her second jump and she makes it, a double lutz, but falls hard on the double toe loop that follows it.

Victor’s heart sinks then. Maybe he’d fall too? Yelena had seemed supremely confident, and she’s been skating _a lot_ longer than he has, and she is still messing up her jumps, will he mess up too? Is he being too overconfident? Her song comes to an end with Yelena posing in the middle of the ice, face flushed and breathing heavy, There’s a smile on her face but Victor could tell she is disappointed, her eyes don’t seem to scream murder for once tonight.

The next skater was much better, lands all of his jumps, but his step sequence is a bit dull, not as interesting to watch as Yelena’s was, but his music is mellow by comparison. Then Victor is stepping onto the ice. Miss Nina giving him a hug and wishing him good luck, whispering, “Arms.” into his ear, which he only acknowledges with a nod of his head, before he pushes off, circling a couple of times to get a feel for the ice and then settling into the middle of the rink. He finds his papa and babushka in the crowd, both of them give him a big smile and a thumbs up and he waves at them enthusiastically with both hands, which sends a titter of laughter around the rink. He blushes then, ducking his head and settling into his starting position, legs crossed, upper body turned away from the crowd, and takes a deep breath.

‘ _I just need to have fun. I just need to show my papa, I’m having fun._ ’ He tells himself.

Then [the music starts](https://youtu.be/qmDOBB8EYIA), and he turns reaches, tenses his legs to push myself backwards effortlessly, like Miss Nina has showed him how to do, and his performance begins in earnest. He loses himself in the music, lets it wash over him, there’s no crowd, even forgets his very future rests on this single performance, that the chance to train with the best coach in all of Russia hangs in the balance, he’s just dancing on the ice for his papa like he does every Saturday, to make him smile, if he can do that it will be enough.

The music stops, and Victor stops with it, and there’s silence, he can’t hear anything except his harsh breathing, then suddenly applause. He blinks and scans the crowd before him and everyone is clapping, he watches his papa rise from his seat, his babushka follows him, three or four following suit. He covers his face with his hands, all these people clapping, all these people smiling at him, just as happy as his papa looks, it fills him with a sensation he doesn’t have a name for, but he likes it. Miss Nina is calling his name her face doesn’t look happy but shocked, he skates over to her and she hands him his skate guards.

“Vitya, what was that?” She asks, her voice has an unusual breathlessness to it.

“What was what? What did I do? Did I not do good?” He’s suddenly unsure, the crowd seemed to love it but were they just being polite?

“Did you not do-? Victor, I cannot believe you, I’ve never seen you focus like that during practice, never seen you move like that…I have no words.” She pulls him close, into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” He asks, staring up at her, with wide blue eyes, and pink flushes cheeks.

“Really. You’re going to take the skating world by storm.”

“Best skater in all of Russia?” He giggles.

“You dear, could be the best skater in all the world.”

 

He quickly changes out of his skates in the changing rooms, shuffling on his coat and shoes, grabbing Miss Nina by the hand and pulling her to the public entrance to the rink to find his papa. Working his way through the crowd a few strangers clap him on the shoulder and tell him well done, he sees Mr Feltsman who smiles and inclines his head once, and Victor is sure that’s a good sign. He finds them where he remembered them from his performance and slips into the empty seat next to his papa, only to be pulled into his fathers lap as strong arms wrap around him.

“We’re so proud, Vityen’ka. You were amazing out there!”

“Thank you.” He whispers into his fathers coat as he throws his arms around his neck. “Do you think-” he stops, he doesn’t want to upset his papa, but he’s pulls back, his papa putting a hand under his chin, forcing him to look at him.

“Do I think, what?” He asks, still smiling.

“Do you think mama would have liked it?” Victor asks in a small voice, looking down at his fathers hand, refusing to making eye contact until a thumb brushed the corner of his eye, to wipe away a tear he didn’t even know he had been crying.

“She would have loved it, she would have been on her feet cheering from the second you took to the ice, making such a scene, they wouldn’t have even been able to hear the music.” Victor laughs at that, remembering how lively his mama could be when she was happy, she would dance and sing, and never stop moving, his babushka used to say she was like an overexcited puppy, still says Victor is exactly the same, filling whatever room he is in with laughter and light and warmth. Victor smiles at his papa, taking a deep shuddering breath. He’s happy, he is, but he wishes his mama could have seen him perform. “Did you have fun?” His papa asks, changing the subject, and Victor nods. “Good, good.” And he smiles, and for once, talking of his mama brings no tears to his papa’s eyes and Victor, vows to keep skating forever, if it can stay that way.

 

After the gala they make their way out of the rink, Miss Nina has already told them that Mr Feltsman wants to speak to them, and while she assures Victor he’s going to take him on, he can’t help but feel nervous, ducking his head and hiding his eyes from everyone who looks his way. The foyer is almost empty when Mr Feltsman makes his way from the staging area but he’s holding out his hand to Victor’s papa when he makes his way over to them.

“Mikhail, thank you for waiting.” He says in a gruff voice, with a firm shake before turning to Victor. “And you, Nina has been keeping secrets from me, she never told me you could skate like that.” He holds a hand out to Victor. “We’d welcome you to our rink, you’ll go far with your talents.” Victor blinks up at him, eyes sliding to the red faced, pouting, preteen, brunette with the murder eyes behind him, before his face breaks out into a heart shaped smile and grabs his hand and shakes it vigorously.

“I’m very excited to get to train with you, Mr Feltsman.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You have the next couple of days off, but after that you’ll be training three days a week at the rink, and two days at the studio for ballet,.” He smiles down at him, a genuine, smile, before turning to his papa. “I have your contact details, I’ll have someone call you tomorrow afternoon to make sure everything is covered before Mondays session.”

“Okay.” His papa nods, hands coming to rest on his shoulders with a squeeze.

“Then we’ll take our leave, dasvidanya.” Mr Feltsman wraps his arm around a tall woman’s waist and starts leading her towards the exit, Victor can tell by how close Yelena is sticking to her side, this must be her much beloved aunt.

“Oh, _Lena_.” Victor says as sweetly as possibly, as he and his family walk just a few paces behind his new coach and his family, the young girl throws a glare at him over her shoulder. “I was just wondering where you got your costume, it’s so pretty, I’d like something similar.”

“You want a dress?” She sneers at him, mockingly, face breaking out into the same ugly grin he saw in the changing room, but before the giggles can start, he interrupts her.

He tilts his head to the side, and with a smile as innocent as the day he was born says, “Actually, I was thinking something more in that _colour_. I think I’d look good wearing gold.”

 

He’s teary as he says goodbye to Miss Nina, and makes her promise that she’ll come to see him skate some times and when performs in his first competition, and he’s teary again as his babushka fills in his dedushka about his routine, and the glowing praise. Usually Victor would be preening, but he wasn’t even _trying_ , it was an accident and although he enjoyed the immediate reaction of the crowd, it now feels weirdly undeserved.

“I wish you could have seen it, dedushka,” he says, sitting on the arm of the chair and wrapping his arms around his grandpa’s neck giving him a kiss on this thinning hair, before leaning his cheek against the top of his head, earning him a pat on the arm.

“We’ll get one of those video cameras.” He wheezes, between coughs. “Your babushka can film it for me and I can watch it in the comfort of my armchair, you know how I hate crowds.” He jokes. Victor just nods, cheek still pressed up against his crown.

“ _We_ need to get this one off to bed.” His papa says, standing, “And I have papers to grade.” Victor lets his eyes drift shut as he clings to his dedushka, with a soft shake of his head.

“Wanna stay here t’night.”

“Okay, okay, but get to bed early. I’ll be over in the morning to take you shopping.” He papa says with a small chuckle leaning down to place a kiss on his temple. Victor just nods sleepily. “Maybe you’ll even get to see your Solnishko, tonight and tell him all about your performance?”

Victor sits up straight, eyes wide. “Oh. Oh no.” His face crumples a little, and his shoulders sag. “I haven’t been able to tell him yet, I haven’t been…” He waves his arms in a manner that indicates, ‘ _I haven’t been me_ ’.

“It’s fine Victor, you can’t control it yet, it will get easier with time, though.”

“Months went by when your Mother and Father never spoke a word to each other, and they were much older then you are.” His babushka adds. “Go get ready, the sooner you sleep, the sooner you’ll get to see him.”

Victor smiles his heart shaped smile and nods, saying goodnight to everyone in the room before running off to the guest bedroom, which is essentially Victor’s own bedroom, and getting ready for bed. He doesn’t even bother to brush his teeth, so excited was he is to see his Solnishko and tell them all about tonight, and training with Mr Feltsman, only hoping he would be able to, and he drifts off with a warmth in his chest tugging to the west.

* * *

Victor is skating in a wide empty expanse. He appeared here in his training gear, his hair is long again but it’s still grey and it whips out behind him when he spins and twirls. He goes through the routine he performed that night, it’s not the same feeling without music but it’s just as easy. He does it again but this time ups the jump difficulty to triples. He lands two, fails one. He keeps going until it’s perfect. Everything around him is a vast, grey, empty, nothing, even the ground beneath him feels warm to the touch, but he can glide over it like it’s ice and when he sits and throws himself back to stare up at the featureless sky that might be ten feet above him, or a million, he sighs and feels an ache in his chest for the boy who isn’t here to share his joy.

Eventually he gets up, and starts gliding again, abandoning his routine. If his Solnishko isn’t here to watch it, why keep performing it? He feels the tug in his chest and he reaches out for it, tensing his legs, like Miss Nina showed him, pushing himself forward, effortlessly. The sadness of being in the bleak, empty, place alone washes over him, and he lets it guide his movements, his arms flailing, like he’s throwing a temper tantrum, but it looks graceful, purposeful, his legs moving like they’re trying to run away, run towards, and Victor doesn’t think, he just lets the feeling take over, and suddenly he falls to his knees, the plain, featureless ground beneath him gone along with his skates, and replaced with smoothed, flagstones, the nothingness he’s been skating on replaced with pools of water, steam rising from them, rock formations, and a large building behind him. He doesn’t know where he is.

A warmth in his chest tugs him towards the building, and sliding the doors open, he passes baths and small shower cubicles, and a locker room. He wanders around following the sensation in his chest, not knowing where he’s headed until he walks into a large reception room, exceedingly large, bizarrely large, larger than the entire building looked from the outside. Low tables were spread out around the edges of the room, and a large TV playing soccer, was muted at the far end, in the middle however, was a small, dark haired boy with one hand on a ballet barre, pointing his feet.

“Solnishko?” Victor gasps, mouth open wide as the boy turns to him, before he takes off running towards him, sliding to his knees as he reaches the centre of the room.

“Itcha-chan?” comes a soft voice, large, brown eyes blinking up at him. Victor nods, smiling so wide his face hurts, opening his arms just as the small boy leaps into them.

“I have so much to tell you, Solnishko.” Victor says, hugging him tight. “I’m going to become a professional skater! I performed tonight, I wanted to show you.”

His little Solnishko’s eyes were wide as he pulled back, “Lots of people watching?”

Victor nods enthusiastically. “Lots and lots. They really liked it too.”

“I get scared in front of lots of people.” The little boy blushes. “Minako-senpai, says I’ll be better when I grow up.” Victor couldn’t resist booping him on the nose with his finger with a giggle.

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing.”

He blushes harder, scrunching his face into a smile which makes his eyes disappear, and makes Victor giggle harder. When he opens his eyes again he reaches out over Victor’s shoulder, pulling a strand of his long, silvery ponytail back with him, eyes full of awe.

“This is the colour of my hair now, I look like an old man.” He jokes, pulling the hair free from the little ones grasp and flipping it back over his shoulder, but his Solnishko shakes his head.

“Not like old man, like prince from show Mari-neechan likes.”

“Okay, prince.” Victor agrees smiling. “Let this prince show you what he’s been working on. First we need a-” He stands up, looking around for the easiest way out, only to find the tables have all gone, and although the decor of the building is the same inside the floor is an ice rink, and his skates are back.

‘ _I’m never going to get used to this._ ’ He thinks to himself.

“Yes, it’s strange.” Comes a small voice next too him as his Solnishko takes his hand.

Victor blinks down at him, ‘ _What?_ ’.

Warm brown eyes widen in awe again, and the young boy tilts his head. “How can you talk, without talking?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” Victor answers truthfully. “Maybe cause we’re soulmates?”

“Soulmates?” The little boy looks confused.

“Yeah, I’m special to you, and you’re special to me. It’s why we can find each other like this.”

“Like best friends? Cause I have a best friend at school, but you can be my soulmate best friend.” The younger boy babbled as Victor leads him towards the edge, and lifts him up to sit on the counter that was still present.

“Yeah, bestest-best friends. No matter what happens.” Victor smiles, booping him on both of his cheeks this time.

“YAY!” his Solnishko cheered, throwing his hands in the air and kicking his legs up, making Victor laugh again.

“Be careful!” he admonished, but there was no real heat in it. “You need to sit still, while I show you something.”

“Okay!” The younger boy agrees clasping both of his hands together and burying them in his lap.

Victor moves to the middle of the rink, and took up his starting position, after a couple of seconds he realises there wasn’t going to be any music to start so he starts humming the tune, and as he progresses the music swells, no longer coming from him, but all around, as though it were being pumped out of some hidden speakers. He performs for his soulmate; not the original routine, the improved one, with the better jumps. He would be the first person in the world to see him perform it like this, and that makes the warm space in he chest that tugs him towards the boy swell.

When he finishes, his Solnishko claps, possibly more enthusiastically than the crowd at the gala had, that night.

“That was good, Itcha-chan!” he calls out, climbing down from the counter and running towards Victor to meet him in the middle of the rink.

“Thank you, Solnishko.” He smiles, ruffling the smaller boys hair. “Why don’t you show me what you were practicing, too? When I walked in?”

The dark haired boy nods and takes a step back, straightening up, taking him through the different sequences Minako-senpai has taught him over the past two years, even showing him a wobbly pirouette, which Victor tries to copy on his skates, which makes the younger boy giggle when he repeatedly falls over, until he can do a bad job of, it but stay upright.

On the rink they stay, until the light begins to filter into fantastical windows and his Solnishko is woken from his night of rest and Victor is left alone on a familiar rink, in an unfamiliar building, to practice on making his new coach, his papa, and his soulmate proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Most language in here that *isn't* English was used with me attempting to google and use various online translators. If you want to correct me, I'll gladly make the change and credit you!
> 
> (edited to change Victors diminutive name, info found here http://little-details.livejournal.com/2132128.html?thread=35296160#t35296160 )


End file.
